


Shelter

by Scusi



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alfie is the bad guy, Bottom Arthur Shelby, Consent Issues, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Top Alfie Solomons, inebriation, relatively better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 19:31:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17710232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scusi/pseuds/Scusi
Summary: Sabini has an extra request when him and Solomons call truce.Arthur, outlawed to London by Tommy, pays the price.Alfie never intends, or indeed expects, to be smitten.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

"Now I have a request." Sabini says, low in his ear, a hand clasped on his shoulder in friendship - on his way out.

The meeting has been an overwhelming success.

 _"Better the devil you know"_ Alfie mutters to himself, doesn't tone it down at Sabini's look of annoyance. Already a familiarity from their school days recalled.

"I want you to humiliate the man." Sabini says, words weighted and quiet - not meant to be overheard, "Make Thomas Shelby _less_ than a man."

It isn't difficult to parse his meaning.

"Your people would know more about that than mine." Alfie bares his teeth as he says it. Wonders if Sabini sounds the same when he talks about Alfie's heritage as he does when he calls Thomas Shelby a _fucking gypsy_.

But - Business is Business and it's impossible to deny the Peaky Blinders have been encroaching.

"Obviously, I meant no offense to you. Surely you have someone on payroll that will get the job done?"

"The door is that way."

Sabini gives him a humorless look.

"Kiss him for me, won't you?"

 

 

 

Thomas Shelby is a man Alfie respects. They recognize each other. They are both playing the game because the alternative is unacceptable.

Nevertheless, for the crime of encroaching, he does need to be taught a lesson.

He needs to know that he is not - will not be - welcome in London.

The best way to do that is through his London liaison. But what really is a man? Alfie knows a lost agent will have no effect. But to know it's Tommy's brother?

It's hitting Tommy where he hurts. The man is tenacious but surely even he has a limit. And he'll appreciate, Alfie thinks, that his brother will live. Worse things happen in prison and Alfie knows the Peaky Blinder men have been to a few.

Alfie refuses to call it sparing the man because he likes him. He recognizes himself in Tommy and it's maybe the only reason he'll carry such a perverse sentence out.

He could have his men do it. Or one man anyway -  because passing the eldest Shelby around would just be cruel. Only, Alfie's not one to hide from his sins. It feels too much like shying away, too much like passing the blame.

Alfie intends to bear the full weight of his decision. It's the only respectable thing to do.

Thomas will appreciate that, no doubt.

 

 

 

Alfie hasn't met the man before.

Heard of him, yes.

Arthur Shelby - eldest, ugly, violent and cocaine addicted. Irritating, and a strain on Thomas with his distinct lack of intellect.

Thomas had rested the Peaky Blinders from him without much doing.

Arthur Shelby had killed a boy in the ring.

Alfie's not too worried about that, he isn't a boy.

Alfie isn't keen, but it's punishment - pure and simple.

 

 

 

"Gentlemen, welcome. _Welcome_!"

"Mr. Solomons." The man who speaks is clean, immaculate actually. A small, finely groomed mustache and fresh undercut. Hair longer on top than his brother.

Not at all what Alfie had been expecting.

He's small. A wisp of a man compared to Tommy, insubstantial. His smile, when Alfie shakes his hand, is pleasant and wide. Warm.

"You must be Arthur."

"That's right." He says, immediately allowing Alfie to cup his hands in Alfie's own - in a way Tommy or any other gangster no doubt would think weakness.

It's an immediate deferral to Alfie's overdrawn show.

"A pleasure to meet you sir." Arthur smiles, nervous and so docile looking Alfie almost has to do a double take.

"I've heard so much about you." He says instead, because surely that should clue the man in. That it hasn't been anything good.

"Shalom! Let me just say." Arthur says, much too loudly, leaning in - still clasping hands. Trying to match Alfie's overacted warmth. " _Shalom_."

Alfie does do a double take then. The man's intellect, at the very least, hasn't been overstated. He's gullible, very easily led, and it's easy to see how Thomas Shelby displaced him. Less easy to see how this man was in charge of the Peaky Blinders in the first place. He's an embarrassment to the Shelby name.

It's with some displeasure, though, that Alfie acknowledges Arthur isn't as exactly as displeasing as he expected him to be.

He says please and thank you all pretty and polite. Looks smart in his clothes like a good little school boy in his Sunday best. Seems interested when Alfie begins the happening.

He shrugs off his protection, Billy's, protests. Trusts Alfie wholeheartedly simply because his brother told him to, when they close them in for the slaughter. Alfie doesn't miss the way Billy stubbornly refuses to leave Arthur despite recognizing the danger. Thinks it must be the fear Thomas Shelby inspires because surely it isn't out of misplaced affection for this simple man.

Alfie chooses Passover, Seder, because the sacrificial themes cry out to him.

"...they persecuted us. My people -" He gets halfway through an explanation before Arthur chimes in.

"Persecuted race." Arthur intones, rallying with Alfie, as if he understands.

Alfie would prefer he didn't. Hates when the man's hand goes to clasp his heart in a show of sympathy.

Because surely it's false, duplicitous. Alfie knows what they think about Jews in these parts.

Arthur is right with him, following steadfastly along, until Korban Pesach. The ritual sacrifice.

"It's a goat." he says dumbly, eyes lighting in interest when they bring the bleating thing in, and Alfie can't help but play it up.

"Yeah. And we're gonna sacrifice it. Tonight. That's part of the reason we've got to close the doors as well. And this year, we thought that we'd give the fucking goat a name."

"You've named it?" Arthur interjects, abashedly amused, firelight dancing on him.

"Yeah, we did." Alfie confirms, despite himself.

"They named it." Arthur says to Billy, like it's something clever worth repeating.

"After the evil fucking Egyptian Pharaoh." Alfie knows Arthur isn't going to like this next part, "You know what we called him?"

It's almost amusing when he finally reveals the name they've given it. Can see Arthur's face twist immediately when he states, so plainly,

"Tommy Shelby."

They put his protection down immediately. Shockingly, it takes two men at full strength to hold Arthur down, keep him from reaching Alfie. To drag him away from the table and up against the post. Arthur's brittle frame doesn't look like it, but he is a fighter after all.

They choke him. He scrambles, fights as hard as he can, even gets out a "Fuck you!" which Alfie punishes him immediately for. A hard knee to the gut.

The man's hands come up to grasp Alfie at that, without any real strength.

More like an acknowledgement, more like a submission, or a plea to stop.

"That's right, let's take the load off."

Alfie makes a show of letting him breathe. _Allowing_ him to breathe, hands bracketing his face in a parody of gentleness.

"So then the evil Egyptian scum was finally cleansed," he smears blood on Arthur's forehead, "by the blood of the Passover goat."

He smears it across the elder Shelby's lips like lipstick, gives him sweet - pronounced - Italian kisses on either side of his mouth. The man's hands are still locked softly around Alfie's forearms.

"That's from Sabini." He says, before he orders his men out.

When they are alone, he allows them both to breathe. Holds the cord across Arthur's neck just taut enough to feel.

"You know, I thought to myself," Alfie begins, loosening the cord and pulling Arthur towards the table, "it's insulting that he sent you. Surely that other brother of yours, the one that's good with the books, would have been a better choice. He must not care very much for the connection."

Arthur goes wherever he's pulled. Whether he's trying to outlast Alfie, has given up, or is waiting for an opportunity remains to be seen. Alfie pushes him over to the table but doesn't press him down onto it. Not yet.

The way Arthur's hands steady himself and hold fast make Alfie think the man is simply trying to outlast him. Will take the beating he thinks is coming without much complaint.

"You think because I've not killed you already that I'm not going to, eh?" Alfie smacks him on the side of his head but gets no response.

It's difficult to read him facing away so Alfie drags him back by the cord still around his neck and turns him around so they're face to face.

"You'd be right about that." Alfie admits, "And I want you to know - this is Business. Just Business. Is that understood?"

When Arthur realizes Alfie is waiting for a response he nods.

"Well, alright then." Alfie says. "I'm going to fuck you and you're going to lie there and take it."

Arthur's eyes widen and he swallows against the rope. Still, he doesn't make a move to fight. Is unnaturally cowed for a moment.

When he does make a move Alfie immediately thumps him back down. Brings him flat against the table.

He smacks his face, and that more than anything, seems to bring the struggle to a stop.

Alfie isn't even choking him anymore but Arthur doesn't call for help.

The hands are back, though, those pleading-to-halt hands. They grasp at Alfie's own when he reaches down to undo the man's trousers. Alfie only smacks them out of the way.

The man is panicked now, trembling, so Alfie leans down and strokes his hair in a parody of a caress, kisses his cheek with a loud smack.

"It'll be over in a matter of minutes, mate."

Then he pulls his trousers off.

He's pale, underneath. Clean and smooth. Legs like a woman's. Alfie pays it no mind. Only knocks the trembling limbs out of his way to get inside the space between.

"You deserve this." Alfie says, meaning to explain both Arthur's monumental stupidity, his lack of caution, and Tommy Shelby's sheer audacity.

Instead, tumbling with a shake from Arthur's lips are a parroted,

"I deserve this."

His facade crumbles accordingly. Gone is the cocaine improved, confident man from earlier. In his place is something childlike in its wretchedness, like how soldiers used to call for their mothers.

"I'm not here to mother you." Alfie sneers down at him, displaced and unthinking contempt shining through, quite suddenly without his permission.

Arthur's face becomes raw in its expression of hurt.

Alfie lines them up and pushes in, angrily, and doesn't get very far. Every muscle in Arthur's body locks up, tightens. It's almost enough to keep Alfie out.

"Don't want to chaff my cock." Alfie says when he has to stop and retreat. Has to cover himself in oil before pushing back in.

Arthur doesn't make a sound. He doesn't breathe. It feels like minutes before he breathes and Alfie doesn't notice. His pace is punishing and it doesn't matter - because it _is_ punishment.

It's an ugly thing, altogether.

"Bet this isn't the cultural exchange you were hoping for," Alfie pushes the breathe out of him, fucking Arthur into the table, "A big, uncut Jewish cock in you. But I shouldn't make fun. It was so sweet of you to come here curious at all..."

Arthur's too overwhelmed with sensation to respond. Too struck. Too stuck on the big thing moving in and out of him. 

"Never had Gypsy pussy before." Alfie adds as an afterthought.

That bit gets a reaction, almost. Arthur surges up at it ineffectually.

"It wouldn't be half as bad if I at least had a bag for your head." Alfie finishes.

His anger is getting the best of him.

Arthur Shelby takes it quietly.

He's struggling, though, Alfie sees it. His body is tense, his eyes are watering as they track from Alfie to the dead man at the table beside them. Alfie's weight moves him minutely across the table with every thrust.

The tight heat of him is good. The grip of him milking Alfie's cock. Alfie doesn't even have to pretend Arthur is someone else. The way he pales and shivers, how his mouth falls open. Even the tears filling his eyes. And his hands. Those gold adorned - like Alfie's own - hands coming to clasp at him. Not in violence, but softly.

Alfie almost acquiesces to them.

But then it is over and he cums inside the man. Groans loudly and keeps pumping, oversensitive cock slipping in his own remnants, getting them both messy.

It's Just Business. He has to remind himself.

He adds injury to insult by ripping Arthur's shirt open, pulling on his tie and ruining his immaculate collar so he looks mussed and well fucked over.

"Go tell Tommy he's been betrayed."

He didn't need to add the extra touches. The way Arthur limps out, the way his eyes don't leave the ground probably tell everyone everything they need to know.

Alfie already has a reputation as a Sodomite.

Surely everyone is going to know - but no one is going to dare say anything. Not even Tommy, probably. It'll bring too much shame to his family.

Alfie tries not to give it too much thought.

It's just business.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

 

Alfie doesn't get a call and he doesn't get a visit.

He doesn't get a knife in the back or assassins coming out of the wood work.

What he does get, a week later, is another visit from the eldest Shelby.

He's a mess, to say the least. There's dark circles under his eyes. Even his hair is ungroomed and a touch longer. He reeks of liquor, his clothes are stained - some put together wrong, and he shows up without protection.

With just himself.

He has a gun tucked into his belt though. As if that will deter Alfie.

"Please come into my office." Alfie says, gesturing grandly.

Arthur really doesn't want to, exuding hesitance even as he continues forward to follow through the factory.

When Alfie dismisses Ollie and situates himself behind his desk he can almost see Arthur start to sweat. His hands tremble as they twist his cap in his hands. He nicks himself on the razor, startles when he does it.

Alfie uses it as an excuse to cross back over to in front of his desk.

Arthur almost turns back towards the door but Alfie gets there first.

"Let me see." Alfie says, making patronizing little soothing noises, and holds out a hand.

He isn't sure Arthur is going to do it. In fact, the man doesn't. But he doesn't try very hard either when Alfie reaches down and grabs his hand. He tries to wrench it from Alfie's grasp for only a second before giving up. Before letting the appendage tremble in Alfie's hands, blood slipping through the fingers.

Alfie pops the digit in his mouth. He isn't sure why he does that. It's uncouth.

Maybe it's simply because he's stuck playing a role to Arthur Shelby now. And that role is rapist. Alfie doesn't care for it. He's never been a criminal of the common variety. And he doesn't respect the lack of control, the lust. He still has some heart left too, for the girls. But Arthur Shelby isn't some girl and he's as deserving as any, more in fact. He simply has played a game that he has lost.

"How's Tommy?" Alfie asks, letting the finger drop.

Arthur immediately withdraws and hides his hand before thinking better of it and resting it shakily on the butt of his gun.

Alfie's actually quite amused at that. He continues when Arthur doesn't reply.

"You didn't tell him. And why should you? It isn't any of his business. _Except_ that I'm going to betray him. Have, in fact."

"I told him." Arthur challenges hotly, only to back down the second Alfie crowds closer, "I-I told him you killed Billy."

"Oh you told him I killed Billy." Alfie repeats, like he's surprised. He isn't.

Arthur can't look at him, shies away from him when Alfie takes a step forward.

"Tommy sent me to...he sent me to fix it." He chokes out.

"Well he certainly has some misplaced faith in you, doesn't he?"

The look of shame that crosses Arthur's face makes him think that just the opposite is true. That Tommy is quite vocal about Arthur's shortcomings - of which Alfie spots many.

Alfie keeps walking forward and Arthur keeps stumbling back until they're at an impasse against the wall. The barrel of Arthur's gun digs into Alfie's gut. Alfie can feel the tremble from the man's grip all the way through the metal.

"I noticed you didn't bring protection. Why is that? Not very smart if you ask me."

"If you touch me again-"

"I'm touching you now."

"I'll-I'll shoot you."

Alfie tests it by pressing into the gun. He already knows Arthur Shelby dares not shoot him. Tommy's told him to make peace. Any other man worth his salt would take his revenge for such an offense. Alfie certainly would. Tommy would.

Arthur doesn't.

"Now, the way I sees it. You didn't bring anyone 'cause you didn't want them to see, eh?" Alfie grasps the barrel of the gun as he says it. Pulls it slowly from Arthur's desperate grip.

Tommy's been betrayed but he doesn't know it yet.

It's damned inconvenient.

"Now why don't you be a good boy and tell Tommy what I've done?" It's condescending but it still doesn't accomplish what Alfie has set out to.

Instead Arthur's face cracks and some strange noise catches in his throat. When he whispers it's a plea.

"don't you tell Tommy."

Simple. And now Alfie recognizes more where Arthur is coming from. Arthur is acting more like a man. And a man wouldn't want his humiliation known. Alfie's going to have to force his hand, until his need for revenge is greater than his shame.

"That's a slippery slope right there." Alfie mutters, tucks Arthur's gun into his own belt. "I could do this to Tommy, you know or the other one. _Your_ brothers and you wouldn't have even warned them."

Arthur's face changes at that, like it had the last time.

"You _fucking_ touch any of my brothers -"

Alfie throws him up against the wall. The men outside the windows all look but look away just as quickly. He pulls the blinds down anyway.

"What's that you're saying?" Alfie asks, squints like he didn't quite get it.

Arthur gulps, but struggles valiantly on.

"Tommy said you were in the war," Arthur spits, "that you understood-"

The words are cut off by a sharp jab to Arthur's stomach.

"What about the war." Alfie asks dangerously. He wants to really hurt Arthur Shelby, in that moment.

The man seems to sense it, looks struck dumb with fear but continues anyway.

"You have no honour-"

Alfie wretches him across the room and to the desk the moment the words are out.

"A Peaky Blinder talking to me about _honour_." He laughs madly.

Arthur fights him but it's ineffectual. He's held down by Alfie's hand in his hair, pressing his face to the desk. His breathing changes, quickens, until he can't catch it. He regrets setting Alfie off.

It all happens too quickly, just like that first time.

Arthur struggles as Alfie rips at his clothes. Alfie spits and tries to mount him almost immediately. It's painful and he only gets halfway in. Arthur tries to claw at the man but keeps grabbing at air. His gasps turn to sobs. He tries in vain to quiet himself, to not let Alfie Solomons hear him.

"Didn't you kill a wee boy in the ring?" Alfie whispers, in his ear, and that's all it takes for Arthur's struggling to fall off.

Alfie pushes himself off of Arthur then, walks around the desk and sits in his chair. Leans back in it like he doesn't have a care in the world.

"Come suck my cock." He challenges.

Arthur sobs loudly, pushes himself up off the desk top and scrambles for his pants.

"If you don't want Tommy Shelby to know," Alfie growls, inflamed at being ignored, "Come.suck.my.cock."

Arthur doesn't, of course. But he finds himself frozen when Alfie stands up and violently makes his way back towards him.

"Let me clean your shit off my cock first. See, I'm a gentleman, aren't I?" Alfie's anger is uncontrollable, he knocks half the contents of the desk to the floor when he reaches for the rum, pours it over himself, "Just rum flavored cock for you."

Arthur gets one good hit in, before Alfie strikes back. He hits him over and over and over.

Arthur gets out a plain exclamation of 'Dad!' exactly once before Alfie punches it out of him. Tells him his father isn't here to save him.

When Arthur can't stand anymore Alfie draws him to his knees in front of him.

"Bite and I'll punch all your teeth out and then fuck your mouth anyway." He warns.

Arthur doesn't know where his cap is. His gun is tucked into the madman's belt. He's about to pass out, breath slow now.

It's different from being - forced. Arthur has a choice. Even if it feels like his mouth trembles open of its own accord.

He chokes on it, feels it forced to the back of his throat, rum stinging the cuts in his mouth.

It's over in a few seconds. Alfie pulls out and then the man is covering his face with his hands. Arthur doesn't watch to see what he does next. He waits, on his knees.

It takes some time before he realizes that the sobs he's hearing are not his own. They peter off into an unsteady laugh.

"Don't you fucking talk about the war to me." Alfie says. Already he's regretting being such a brute.

There's business and there's....whatever evil has crawled out of his soul. He doesn't understand how easily Arthur Shelby gets under his skin. He thinks of Tommy, who he's beginning to _hate_ actually, and understands a little better.

He's surprised when Arthur answers him.

"Don't talk about my brothers."

Said lowly, like a wounded animal with something to protect.

"You're from Birmingham, eh? It's rough up there." Because despite Tommy being the clever one - the leader - Arthur is the oldest. Has the burden of protection as the oldest. Alfie is beginning to understand better. "Come sit up here."

Arthur does. Gets up on shaky legs, nearly collapses into the chair. His face is set in a grimace of pain, lips thinned. There are tears in his eyes.

Alfie pours him a drink.

"I'm not accustomed to back talk." Alfie warns.

"Are we on then?" Arthur asks shakily and it's a moment before Alfie realizes the man is talking business.

One of them has their head on straight at the very least. Shockingly, it's not Alfie.

"Okay." Alfie says, because in that moment whatever Arthur - small and fragile in the seat before him - asks Alfie is inclined to grant.

He stands at that - still trembling, wiping at his mouth - and gathers himself to leave.

Alfie doesn't stop him.

 

 

 

What Alfie does do, a couple of days later, is call Thomas Shelby.

He asks for a meeting.

He asks about Arthur's war service.

Gallipolli.

He asks about the boy in the ring and all he gets for his trouble is a tight, "Sporting Accident" from behind clenched teeth. Like Tommy is ashamed of the whole incident, and the brother who has incited it. Alfie finds out from other sources that the Peaky Blinders are supporting the boy's mother. He doesn't find out any more than that.

Sabini isn't happy with the delay. The police have already raided the majority of the Shelby's pubs and turned them over though, so Alfie isn't sure why the Italian is so pissy. Tommy's not brought it up with him - no doubt only too relieved that Arthur has managed to salvage the deal with Alfie, that those pubs at least are still limping along.

Alfie pointedly ignores the fact that he's no longer calling it 'business'. This isn't Alfie. He isn't - well, he _is_ \- a man of force. But not like this. His lovers, when he has them, are well cared for. They're not beaten or touched without their permission. But he's been a savage, hurt the man far beyond what was called for. He keeps seeing his face behind his eyes like flashbacks of war.

He privately admits trying not to see him again is futile.

He has to see him again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

Arthur appears unaccompanied.

The meeting is late. It's basically night. Alfie has blankets stacked high in his office.

Arthur's face is black and blue, swollen a little still. Blood under skin.

He's tense as a bow, resigned.

"Tommy said you wanted me." he says, words wavering.

It takes only the space of a moment for Alfie to realize the weight of them. To parse their meaning. It's apparent that Arthur Shelby thinks Tommy knows and that he's ordered him to - well. It explains why he's cleaned up this time.

Arthur takes in the stack of blankets warily.

"Did Tommy tell you to leave your protection at home too?" Alfie asks, concern a strange look on him.

"I'll not have you killing anymore of my men." Arthur responds.

"That's why you come alone?" Alfie presses, surprised.

For a bad man Arthur is very _good_. In a flash of insight Alfie realizes how Arthur got men to follow him. He's simple, but loyal.

Arthur shuffles from foot to foot uncomfortably in the dim candlelight.

Alfie pours them each a drink. Arthur downs it in one go but Alfie doesn't pour him another right away. Instead he gestures to the chair in front of his desk while taking a seat himself.

"Tell me about Gallipolli." Alfie says.

Arthur seems extremely hesitant.

"Bloody." he says, eventually. The bruises obscure his expression, make him seem like he's liable to break any second.

"You have episodes." Alfie hazards a guess. "Shell shock."

Alfie interprets Arthur's noncommittal motion as something like a shrug.

"Is that what happened to that boy?" Alfie asks.

Arthur freezes, pure and simple, won't meet his eyes. Alfie takes it as confirmation.

He wants to comfort the man, quite suddenly. Instead he pours him another drink.

Again, Arthur downs it. Reaches for the third before Alfie's even hardly poured it.

"Think you might want to slow down?" Alfie asks languidly.

Arthur stills at that and puts the glass down like it's an order. Maybe it is. It puts Alfie ill at ease, and isn't that what he was doing anyway? Getting Arthur drunk?

He pours more in the glass and pitches it towards Arthur across the desk.

The man nurses it quietly.

"You used to be head of the Peaky Blinders." Alfie states.

Arthur fiddles with his glass, eyes on it as if it's the most interesting thing in the room.

Alfie thinks about the warm man who showed up for Passover - who was curious, amused, eager to talk even, eager to get to know Alfie.

He doesn't want to get to know Alfie anymore, no doubt.

"You're going to be staying the night." Alfie says, dissatisfied with the way things are going. Dissatisfied with Arthur's quiet fear.

Arthur's hands shake as he puts his empty glass down for another shot. Alfie fills the request.

Alfie himself has only one glass.

Arthur begins to get sloppy at the bottom of his sixth. Between that time the conversation is sparse.

"Alright, I think that's enough of that." Alfie says, standing up and pushing his chair out of the way.

He begins laying down blankets. Arthur stands, sways as he grasps the desk to lend himself support.

When there's a proper nest Alfie motions for Arthur to come and lay down. Arthur looks distressed. He can't do it, Alfie guesses. Can't bring himself to do it.

So Alfie reaches across the desk and pulls Arthur around it, towards him. Arthur whimpers, just once, before he wets himself. He turns his face away when Alfie notices.

Alfie's been present on battlefields when men's bowels evacuate themselves. The first time a shell passed overhead Alfie pissed himself. He says nothing about it. Although what it says about him - that fear he's able to inspire, doesn't leave his mind.

He does begin to divest Arthur of his soiled clothes. Arthur doesn't look at him throughout. Alfie undoes his shirt but leaves it on him. It's like undressing a doll.

There's ugly bruises underneath. Such that Alfie can hardly believe they're all from him. But he knows they are. Alfie skims one hand across, softly, and Arthur flinches.

Alfie guides Arthur down and is surprised when the man folds to his knees in front of him.

"Not that." Alfie says, and nudges him to lay down.

Arthur drunkenly spills himself across the blankets. Alfie follows him down.

He pets at him almost immediately, doesn't give him any space for a breath. He touches his hair and his face, his lips, his chest. When Alfie reaches back up to give his face one more caress before beginning something like a stuck sob comes out of Arthur's throat.

"Why are men always so gentle before they 'urt you." Arthur's accent is that much more discernible even though it's slurred. It's said quietly. Arthur's speaking to himself but Alfie answers anyway.

"Men have been gentle to you before?" Alfie asks. That Arthur's been hurt before Alfie has no doubt. He's a Peaky Blinder. That others have been gentle to him beforehand? is a surprise. But then again, maybe not. Arthur is fine boned, eyes wide and dark lashed and filled with expression.

Arthur nods, head subtly lolling. It's the alcohol that's loosened him.

"Like who?" Alfie prompts.

"like..Inspector Campbell, or whatever his name is. Like m' Dad."

The revelation is disconcerting. Only because Alfie hadn't thought of it. Certainly, had not thought of it while he battered Arthur. While Arthur had called out for the man.

Alfie's own Dad used to give him the occasional smack. But nothing like some of the English blokes around here give their children.

"A policeman?" Alfie asks, to take his mind off of it.

Arthur doesn't reply though, his attention has waned. He stares deftly at the ceiling, waiting.

So Alfie parts Arthur's legs a little more and settles himself between them.

"Yeah, a policeman." Arthur says, seeming to come back to himself. As if he's realized that in the absence of a conversation this is what will be taking place.

Alfie doesn't disabuse him of the notion.

Arthur drunkenly pushes himself up to rest on his elbows. He seems worried when Alfie doesn't continue speaking and wracks his brain for something else to say.

"It's because...Tommy's ambitious, you know. I...I never was. I just wanted...I just wanted to keep my family safe. Keep a roof over their heads. I fought for that. In Birmingham you...you have to."

"But then Tommy..." Alfie prompts.

It's apparent he's hit a sore spot. Arthur's eyes go big and wounded and he looks away from Alfie. Not that he's been looking at him, only in Alfie's direction.

Alfie guesses it's more difficult for him to control his emotions, being this drunk.

Alfie's hands caress Arthur's hips, then grip them softly. His fingers match the barely there bruises. He doesn't mean it as a threat. But words start spilling from Arthur's mouth anyway.

"In Gallipolli there were these men." His voice is quiet, confessional, desperate, before it gets shaky, "Normal men, boys some of them. We fought side by side. Some....died...I was in the village and - th-there was a - they were gathered - there was a girl-"

Arthur doesn't have to say anymore than that for Alfie to know.

"Fucking men, eh?" Alfie says, before the incongruity of his own statement hits him.

Did they hold her down like this? Like he's holding Arthur down?

"they tore her apart." Arthur says quietly, far away. "they had-"

And he doesn't continue after that. Because continuing would be worse than facing his fate, Alfie supposes. He's pale, when Alfie turns Arthur's face towards him, hand under his chin. Alfie works his thumb across Arthur's jawline. He puts his hands to work on the man's body.

Arthur trembles like a scared dog, bewildered every second Alfie isn't doing him violence. The alcohol though, eases Arthur making him more pliable, more relaxed, then he would be otherwise.

When Alfie's hands find his backside and start kneading his ass is when Arthur's hands come to rest on Alfie's upper arms like he means to stop him. There's no strength behind the protest but Arthur's scared, Alfie thinks. He leans down to kiss one of his hands without thinking.

Then Alfie rubs at his hole. He wets his hand in oil and brings it back to slide across the shivering rosebud. Arthur is breathing hard, face set in terror as he stares into a dark corner of Alfie's office.

"Look at me." Alfie commands lowly.

Helplessly, Arthur obeys.

When their eyes lock Alfie presses a finger without breaching him. Arthur's mouth falls open, his cheeks heat more the longer Alfie waits. Then, it seems to give and Alfie's finger tip slowly eases inside.

Arthur's cheeks are already rosy from the alcohol but they're burning now.

Arthur only breaks their gaze when Alfie's finger is all the way inside. He moves restlessly, like he doesn't know what to do with himself. He starts to get hard and he doesn't seem to know what to do with that either.

Alfie knows what to do with it.

Alfie prepares him properly and thoroughly. He thinks he's ready when Arthur starts squirming uncomfortably, shifting his hips in the process. It's only when he's about to seat himself that he demands Arthur look at him again. He wants to see Arthur like this. Wants to see his expression while he holds him down and fucks inside.

Arthur's eyes go wide and desperate before Alfie even does anything, at just the feel of Alfie's cock pressing against him.

Alfie teases. Rocks gently and repeatedly, head never fully breaching the tight muscle beneath - but almost, a little further each time. Arthur's breaths stutter and his brows furrow and he starts to pant, unable to hold Alfie's gaze. It goes on for awhile.

Then, once, as Alfie's rocking in Arthur rocks down.

His mouth falls open all the way when Alfie slides inside. Confusion and conflict swarm his bruised face in a distressing way. Not pain, though.

"Rum liberates you from your self doubt," Alfie pants, "Let it."

Arthur is a picture with Alfie's cock in him. Mouth open, red rosy cheeks, and glistening eyes swallowed up by the iris.

"Not as blue as Tommy's." Alfie says, and he can't tell if Arthur's eyes are green or blue but only that they're _pretty_.

The mention of his brother makes Arthur's mouth press into a hard line, but a moment before that a wounded look passes across his face. Alfie guesses he's used to the comparison being made and used to falling short. He regrets it enough that he almost apologizes.

"You'll not..." Arthur starts drunkenly, eyes tearing up, "You'll not do this to him."

Alfie's taken things further away from where he intended them to be.

"No, I won't." Alfie says, to put it to bed.

And then he puts his own body to work, to make Arthur feel good. Spears him slow and thorough on his cock. Fastens his pace when Arthur's clumsy hips start to meet his thrust.

Arthur's too drunk to be resistant, but for however easy he is to rouse it's difficult to make him cum. Alfie ruts into him - makes him pant, still red cheeked - but he doesn't come. He keeps trying to sit up almost like he's uncomfortable but Alfie keeps lulling him back down.

The slick drag of him on Alfie's cock is maddening and Alfie wants to spill inside him. But he needs the other man to come first.

It isn't happening. Arthur's hard. Arthur's whining low and needy in his throat but doesn't seem to hear it. And he keeps trying to sit up. His thighs are situated across Alfie's and he'd need to be off his cock to actually sit up so Alfie doesn't let him.

After some minutes though he does, when nothing seems to be working. He hadn't meant for the man to be this drunk, so he lets him up.

Arthur's hands twist in Alfie's shirt at that. Grip strong and pulling, nothing at all like the weakness that tremors through them on other occasions. Arthur raises himself, not to sit, but just enough to change the angle of their legs, to wrap his own around Alfie's waist. The high guttural moan in his throat as he reseats himself on Alfie's cock, flush against Alfie's fucking balls, is accompanied by white spurts of cum striping across Alfie's lower stomach.

Alfie comes harder than he ever has before.

The triumph of it - getting _everything_ he wants - lasts but a moment.

Because then there is Arthur - who hiccups, who's face falls, who begins sobbing like his heart is breaking. It's drunken and unabashed but deep.

It hurts Alfie to hear it.

And just like that Alfie senses turn on their head. He smells the rum on Arthur's breath and the sharp scent of fear in the air, sees the sheer stark of Arthur's bruises. His face is battered. He's in pain. He's in distress.

And Alfie knows when he's being monstrous. He gathers Arthur in his arms, lets him cling and tremble and cry, and knows that the comfort is perhaps the most monstrous thing he's done yet to Arthur Shelby. Offering consolation in tandem with his own brutality.

Arthur Shelby. Who quiets, eventually, and rests his head against Alfie's chest and looks straight into his eyes until they start to flutter closed.

He sleeps, miraculously. It must be the alcohol.

And Alfie watches.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
